


Promises Not Kept

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Broken Promises, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Unhappy Ending, Yes it's still Kirkwall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24400840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: When love is forbidden, when it is dangerous, is when some people are most likely to succumb to its temptation. In the throes of passion, many things are said.Only some of them can be true.*Note: this was a teasing challenge to a friend of mine who said he could NEVER find Grace sympathetic, that then took a life of its own! I owe Mid a lot for being the catalyst, even if he still doesn't like her!
Relationships: Hawke/Grace
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Promises Not Kept

“Grace?” Seren kept his voice low. Damn it, it was second moonrise, she should be around. “Grace, love? Are you here?”

Every clandestine meeting was more dangerous: not so much for him, but for her. The past two years had been a struggle, but one he had no desire to give up no matter how foolish Anders said he was being. What would _he_ know? He’d never lived as an apostate.

He hadn’t minded life on the run, but his sister had. Bethany wanted something else, and always had. He understood her choice to go to the Circle just as much as he understood Grace’s desire to taste freedom. Had she finally left? Andraste had mercy, had someone else found her?

He sighed in relief as he felt the tingle of magic against his right cheek. A wisp, so faint as to be almost imagined if he hadn’t known to wait for it. It was exactly what he’d been hoping for, so he followed it into her arms. “Grace,” he murmured into her chestnut hair. She smelled of sunlight and sand...and increasingly, of desperation.

“You take too many risks, Hawke.”

He huffed. “And if I didn’t, how many more would you take? It’s not me who risks everything, love. You should be away from here.” _Or go to the Circle._ He bit back the words that were easy for _him_ to say.

Even in moonlight she was beautiful, the dark angles of her tattoo only accentuating her eyes and the smile that had come more regularly for a time. It no longer appeared easily, but he could still tease it out of her. This time, she tensed. “Seren…”

“Later,” he murmured against her temple, cutting off the all-too-familiar argument. Every risk, every moment of fear - it was _worth it. She_ was worth it.

Grace turned enough to meet his lips, and once again he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. She’d been hurt, but who hadn’t been in Kirkwall? She’d loved and been betrayed, as he’d done the unthinkable all to keep her safe. To keep them all safe.

Then she broke away. “I’ll go if you come with me. We can leave Kirkwall.” His eyes widened, and she pushed into the breach. “Please, Seren - it’s not safe here. It’s not safe for any of us. They keep coming, and one by one the other Starkhaven mages have surrendered, turned themselves in, or left. It’s not worth it to stay here. My dreams get worse every night.”

He held her close against him. “I want to,” he whispered. “I’ll find a way, love. We’ll be together, you’ll be safe - but there’s also Bethany and mother. Mother won’t leave while Bethany’s in the Circle, and I can’t just abandon her.”

The woman who held his heart so carefully pulled back. “Is that it? Your sister? Are you trying to free her? There’s the Underground, you said.”

“She won’t leave. She’s happy, she says.” He’d told her about the Underground, but Grace hadn’t pushed before. This was the first time she’d agreed to go. The last time, she’d still held out hope he could help some of her friends escape the Gallows. Now she knew the truth. Beth was _happy_ with other mages. He’d never asked if _she_ was where that ‘anonymous’ report of a mage had come from, for the sake of their mother.

Grace shook her head. “Happiness for what? For not being a risk to those you love? That only lasts so long. There are Starkhaven mages in the Circle,” she repeated. “I’ll find a way. Do you trust me?”

Trust? Seren laughed, as quietly as always when they met. Oh, to have more than fleeting encounters in darkness or caverns - to see the sunlight sneak past his curtains onto her skin, to see her smile without any of the lines that etched in deeper…

“Of course, Grace. You’ve put your life in my hands. If you can find a way for Bethany to be free of the Circle - we’ve lived as Apostates before. There are ways. I’ll become a farmer again, and you-”

She chuckled, and followed the dream. “I could teach the children. Maybe I could even learn how to cook.”

It was a _happy_ life his parents had made in Ferelden, even with the moves. They would find a way. “Promise me, Grace. Promise me you’ll be careful. If you have to go, you will.”

She shook her head. “We’ve talked, Seren. I’ve lost everything. I’m not losing you, too. We go together.”

There was no arguing with her when she got like this. He pressed his cheek into her palm, then kissed it. “Together,” he promised. 

**

Their first meeting had been far from pleasant. Decimus hadn’t even tried to listen to him - he’d attacked. It was only after Fenris had struck him down that the others helped him put together the rest of what Alain had babbled on his way to the cave entrance. They weren’t just refugees from the remains of Starkhaven’s Circle - they were blood mages. Decimus had led them all down the path from Circle mage to apostate to malificarum.

Despite that, she’d been beautiful and bold. He was a Hawke - he couldn’t clip someone else’s wings while he got to fly. Instead, he’d lied. Seren shook his head at his mirror, a thin razor in one hand.

“When in doubt, lie. That’s what you taught me, father.”

Malcolm’s eyes looked out of the mirror back at him, and he resumed his shaving. He focused on the corner of his jaw before setting the blade down and wiping with a damp rag. Only then did he look back up.

“So I lied.” Who else could he talk to but the man who’d taught him to lie to Templars? “I said they’d already escaped. I _tried._ How was I to know what would happen?” These weren’t apostates, used to living rough. They were Circle mages, and had scarcely made it as far as Kirkwall - and _that_ was an accident. No mage wanted to come to Kirkwall. It was preposterous.

They’d ended up here, and it was Thrask who found them. Thrask couldn’t convince them to come out and didn’t want to kill them all, so he’d offered to help.

Seren started scrubbing his teeth, finishing his morning routine. _He’d found them alright. Found them, killed her lover and their leader - along with half of the others - before Grace had talked sense into the rest. He’d lied to let them escape. He’d given her his purse, everything he had on him - and it wasn’t enough._

He spat. “I should have known it wouldn’t be enough,” he muttered at himself again. For two years he’d been slipping not coin but food and clothing to Grace and the others, but the life of an apostate was not for everyone.

Only Grace was left.

_Grace, my love…_

He sighed, pulled on clothing, and left his room. It was time for another day of trying to convince mother they’d be better off going back to Ferelden, and time to send another letter to Beth begging her to _please_ consider asking to go to a different Circle.

Three more days, and he’d see Grace again. Anders disapproved, but couldn’t say anything. Merrill thought it was romantic, and Varric thought he was insane. On days like this, he admitted they might all be right.

“What can I say,” he murmured as he left the estate and started along Hightown’s carefully proper flagstones, past carefully manicured gardens. “I’m my mother’s son.” There was something about mages and falling in love when it was exactly the wrong thing to do that came with being an Amell.

_Together._

His parents managed, and found happiness and a family. He tried not to think of little ones with her hair and his eyes. They needed to get out of Kirkwall first.

They’d find a way. He’d promised her they’d find a way. Together.

**

Eight months later, and ‘together’ was a forgotten hope of the past.

He had to look away from her eyes. “Be gentle, Ser Thrask. It wasn’t her fault. I asked her to hide.”

The Templar’s gaze shifted, then he nodded. Oh, he understood, understood all too well. It made Seren wonder how many? How many apostates, how many families, how many children in the Gallows had - no, anger would do no good, not when Grace was already beginning to boil. 

“I’ll wait at the hill.” Thrask stepped away and out of sight.

There was only one way out of this private clearing tucked behind trees and against the cliffs of the Wounded Coast. How had the Templar known to come?

Grace turned away. “I’d rather die.”

 _“Please,_ Grace.” Desperation flooded Seren’s heart. “Oh, Maker, I promise we’ll find a way. Somehow. There’s...Anders told me, there’s a mage underground. I told you about it, but not much. Some get smuggled out, as often as they can.” He slipped a key, _the_ key, into Grace’s hand. “Darktown,” he murmured, not trusting to Thrask’s apparent empathy. “Near the clinic. Blue lanterns.” Sure, he’d been vocal about his belief that mages should be free, but First Enchanter Orsino and the Knight-Commander still let Bethany come and visit for supper sometimes. They trusted _her,_ if not him _._ Besides, who would dare harbor a mage under Hightown’s vigilant eyes, ever watching for the half-breed refugee to make a mistake? 

“You can’t be serious!”

He hushed her, but at least she’d turned to face him. “I am,” he insisted. “Together, love. You, me...Bethany...mother. We’ll leave. I’ve been saving. I know someone who would take me anywhere, so long as I could get her a ship. Us. We’ll start over somewhere, far away. They’ll never find you. They never found Bethany or Father.”

 _“Bethany_ wasn’t marked by the Circle before.”

Seren blinked. She’d said something like that once, but he’d gotten too caught up in the smell of her hair and the feel of her body against his to ask for details thn. “What do you mean?”

His lover’s laugh was despairing. “Only a blood mage can see it. Only a malificar. Decimus showed me. He showed those of us he trusted, those he knew would take the secret to their graves. The Chantry has perfected a very specific kind of blood magic. They make _phylacteries,”_ the word was spit venom, “that can find their owner anywhere.”

Seren’s blood chilled. As bad as everything else was, this flipped what he’d known as truth upside down. _Was this what it was like to be in the Fade?_ The Chantry. Templars. _Blood magic._ It was forbidden, but how much was to keep the other mages from realizing just what was being done?

He shook his head. “We’ll find a way,” he insisted, brushing her neck where he’d hung a pendant he’d had made, with the Amell crest. It had been his promise - a promise for a life that now hung in the balance. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Now Grace blinked away tears. “Damn you, Hawke.”

He flushed.

What could he say? Seren fought down the flush of relief, hiding it under shame. He’d done it. He’d followed his mother, and guilted his cage-free love into stepping behind those bars she’d fled. He knew how bad her nightmares were, and he’d done it anyway. He should have left with her years ago, even if his family wouldn’t come with.

None of it mattered now. It was too late for regrets. All he could do was give her more promises.

“I swear, Grace, on my life, on my hopes and dreams, on the Amell name. I’ll find a way, and you’ll be free again. We’ll leave. Give me time. I’ll help Anders and his Underground, I’ll push Viscount Dumar, _anything._ Stay strong. I won’t leave you, and I can’t dream without you.”

All they had time for was one last, passionate kiss. All he could taste was bitter salt, but it was from him as much as her. Somehow. There _had_ to be a way. There was for his Father, there would be for her.

“Be careful,” he murmured. “Promise me.”

She walked away, passing the startled Templar. Thrask turned back.

“Take care of her, Thrask.” Saran held the taller man’s eyes, demanding...something. Anything.

Thrask nodded. “I shall.”

It killed him, to watch them make their way up the hill and to the iron-and-stone cage he’d begged her to accept.

He kicked a rock in frustration. She was alive, that was what mattered.

She was alive, and he’d clipped her wings by making a promise he could never keep.

_I’m sorry, Grace. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you._

**

He was a coward. He knew it as the days turned into months. He was Champion now. He had duties, meetings, responsibilities…

“Serah Hawke.”

Seren nodded back at the Templar and walked into the Gallows alone. The Templar probably thought he was here to see Beth - it wasn’t often, but he had come by a few times. This time he was looking for a different woman entirely, with chestnut hair instead of black.

His heart lifted when he saw her. She’d remembered. She’d believed. “Grace,” he said quietly as he got closer.

The woman who turned to look at him was almost a stranger, with hard eyes and deeply carved lines in her face. “I have nothing to say to _you,”_ she hissed. “They put us in isolation for weeks, for ‘observation.’ So much for your ‘help.’”

She turned away, and he could do nothing but pick up his broken pieces and go. “We’ll manage, somehow,” he whispered, but she didn’t respond.

Maybe she hadn’t heard.

 _Together,_ he promised himself. _I’ll find a way, love._ Then he swallowed the desperate pleas he knew better than to make in public, and left.

**

No, Grace could not leave the Gallows, not even to the Champion’s estate.

No, Grace was not available, and the Templars would not go fetch her.

No, Grace was not being harmed, Thrask told him, but the kindly Templar would say no more than that.

No, Bethany would not discuss Grace, and if he asked again she’d stop coming over for supper.

...No, he couldn’t bear the estate even emptier than it was. The Gallows held his heart now.

Seren closed his eyes again. He should have left. He shouldn’t have made a promise he couldn’t keep. Beth, the one he’d been most worried about, was the one who wasn’t at risk.

_Oh, mother._

No. He’d find a way to keep it. Somehow. Then Grace would believe him again.

**

The Mage Underground was found out and crushed.

He knew what haunted dreams were now, filled with the pieces of the amulet he’d hung around a lover’s neck - the amulet she’d thrown on the ground when he’d broken her will and she’d gone with Thrask. All he could do was kneel in the Chantry and pray that Thrask could keep his promises for him.

_“You taught me how to lie, father - teach me how to be strong.”_

**

No. No, Andraste no, Keran had to be mistaken...the words were a heartbeat aligned with his boots striking the hard stones of the Wounded Coast. Your sister. _Your sister._ This conspiracy - a conspiracy he’d have agreed with, if he had known it was happening - had decided to buy his compliance with Beth. Her life. Her face rose in front of him, dark eyes sparkling with her gentle humor. Then it faded, her forehead centered with the Chantry’s brand.

“No!”

“Hawke! Ha...hold up there.” The panting voice was Varric. “We don’t move so fast and you don’t want to go headlong into this. Think, Hawke.”

Seren slowed. Varric was right, damn him. Anything that had happened, he’d be too late for. He had been for mother, why would _now_ be any different? All that kept running through his mind was _who?_ Who would think he was anything but sympathetic to the problems of the Gallows? Who would have convinced Thrask that he needed to be held by threats, not by simple conversation?

He hardly remembered the junkie he talked to on the way down to the little hollow. How many times had he been past here, hunting some bandit or another? It was enough times for his feet to know the way themselves.

That was the only thing that kept him upright when he reached the conspirators.

_No._

He stared, but it wasn’t at Thrask. He had his answer now. “Grace,” he said numbly, trying not to look at the limp figure tossed onto the sand. The only two women that meant anything to him were here. “No. Grace, you know me, you know you don’t need to…”

Her hard eyes stared right back at him. “I know what I’ve seen. Your promises are nothing. _Nothing_ mattered to you but the lies you told for one person. I know better than to trust you again.”

“No,” he whispered as he sank to his knees. “I meant every word.”

_Didn’t I?_

_We were going to escape together._

_We were going to leave, to start a family, to find a little farm somewhere away from all of this._

The chestnut-haired children of his dreams died along with Thrask as she used the Templar’s own blood to kill him.

“Don’t make me do this,” he begged. “I’ll give you anything, swear anything…”

He’d made too many promises.

Her heart’s blood stained the white sand, not more than a mile from where he’d made the first promise...in the same hollow where he’d broken the last one.

Now he’d never get a chance to keep one. His world turned dark as he watched Varric convince Alain to use blood magic to save Beth.

He’d meant those promises, hadn’t he?

_‘The best lie is one you can believe in the moment, Seren. Remember that when the Templars come.’_

He’d meant the ones he’d made to Grace! He’d meant every one!

He stared at her blood on the ground, the hair he would never feel against his cheek, the skin he would never kiss again...the wings he’d clipped himself by using her love until it was turned to hate.

He’d _meant_ those promises!

Hadn’t he?


End file.
